(I work as a rideshare driver. I provide water and candy for my passengers, and I have a small sign saying, “Please take no more than one item per rider.” I’ve just picked up a woman with her kids. She has just been shopping and has a few clear bags with her.)

Child: “Mom, look! Can I have a piece of candy?”

Mother: “Yes, but see what it says here? You can only have one piece each. Make sure to say, ‘Thank you!’”

(I smiled to myself, happy that the mother was teaching her kids to be polite. When I dropped them off and they were walking away, I noticed that one of the woman’s bags was full of the same type of candy I had put out. I checked my pouch to find that the woman had cleared out every piece of candy that I had.)

Where I work, you have to be 18 or older to work as a sandwich maker. Underage workers mainly work cashier and drive-thru, along with packing together the meals, just not making the sandwiches. As I’m underage, I always work at a cash register.

I have been working there for about seven or eight months when I’m called into the back room. One of the lesser managers just says, “Sorry, so sorry,” as I am heading back. I don’t think anything of it until I start talking to my head manager. Apparently, my register was short $5, and even though my head manager keeps saying that I probably gave back the wrong amount of change, I can tell she thinks I took it. I get written up and have to pay the $5. I don’t know if this is legal or not; I am 17 and this is my first job.

Anyway, I just accept it and move on. But then, one day I come in, and I get called back again. This time, there is $10 missing. My head manager closes the door behind us this time and asks the lesser manager if I used my register last night. I was working drive-thru, and, since he was a manager, I thought nothing of it when he took one of my guests for me. We actually did this a lot with many managers. I said he did. Apparently, he is known to come up short on registers a few days before payday — just enough to cover the cost for a pack of cigs. The head manager tells me she isn’t going to write me up this time, as I have usually been on-the-dot perfect on my registers for the nine or ten months I have been there. But, apparently, there is this major count thing going on on Monday, and if I don’t get the $10 in soon, it will come up short, and people will get fired. I am told that if I pay the $10, they will get the lesser manager to give me $5. It isn’t worth it to me, so I just give the $10.

I sort of put that in the back of my mind, and within the next week or two, they fire the lesser manager. I never get my $5.

I end up quitting right before my senior year, to give me more time for extracurricular activities.

The real kicker is that I go back a few years later when I am halfway done with college. Only one manager from my first time working there is still there. She tells me the old head manager has been fired. Apparently, she was stealing from the company for years. She got away with about $5000 before they caught her.

(My father has been blind since he was a toddler. Before he retires he runs a small snack bar in our local city hall. Since it is not uncommon for people to lie to him about the denominations of bills he is given, he has a “verifier” machine he can run money through that tells him the amount of the currency. After I graduate, I spend my summer working for him. My father is on break, and a man approaches me with several items. He hands me a dollar bill.)

(I work in a movie theater. Anytime that we get a raunchy R-rated comedy, we always have to keep a lookout for teens trying to sneak in and watch it. This week, we have “The Dictator,” and right next to it, “The Avengers.”)

Manager: “I think those teens who had Avengers tickets snuck into The Dictator.”

Me: “Uh-oh. Do you want me to go after them?”

Manager: “Nah. I want to do this one.”

(He goes in to find a group of teenagers all sitting in a row.)

Manager: “What do you think you’re doing?”

Teen: “We’re just sitting here waiting for the movie to start.”

Manager: “The Dictator isn’t in 3D.”

(They all had 3D glasses for “The Avengers” sitting in their cup holders. On top of that, we charge an additional $2.50 for 3D movies.)

(I am working at the reception desk of a hotel at 11 pm. We have a walk-in, which is uncommon here as it is a golf resort, out in the middle of nowhere, but does happen. This guy says he is traveling on business and wants a basic room. I make his booking in the system, and give him the price. It’s a pretty low rate for this county, as it is midweek.)

Me: “I’m sorry. The system decides the price based on day and availability; there’s nothing I can do.”

Customer: “Come on! I know the manager of this place! He’d give me a low price!”

Me:*my scam senses are tingling so I decide to play his game* “I see. Well. I might be able to get you a regular’s discount… if you can give me the manager’s name.”

(I say this in the full knowledge that this guy won’t know it, and I won’t have to give him the discount. I realise this could be considered a gamble, but call it intuition.)

Customer: “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

Me: “Well… if you were asking for a member’s discount, I would need your member’s card to prove you were a member. Usually for a regular’s discount, I have to check our system for proof of at least six bookings in the year, so… as a customer, there’s a lot of things you have to prove. Is there a problem?”

(Lucky me, as a night porter, I can get cheeky with the customers, as we are considered security, and I can write almost any questioning off as “checking for suspicious behavior.” I do not suffer people like this gladly. I would never, ever swear or raise my voice to a customer, so through this exchange, I have been smiling, polite, and chirpy.)

Customer:*getting a sort of “rabbit in headlights” look* “Um. Well. It might be the old manager, now.”

Me: “Ah, well, that’s a shame. You could give me his name to be sure?”

Customer:*grumbling* “Never mind. I shall take the rate.”

Me: “Of course, sir.”

(I finish putting his booking through, and take him to his room, wishing him a goodnight. As I walk away from his door, he leans back out and calls quietly to me.)